


Wedlocked

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Ficlet Collection, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-16 22:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Instead, Niflheim offers up a soldier, who isn’t half so amused as Noctis is.





	1. Noct

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “For whatever canon-divergent reason you want, Noct is forced to marry someone from the Empire that isn't Luna and isn't a woman. And somebody voluntells Loqi he's the lucky man. (He's furious about this) And they make a very pretty picture for all the tabloids and newspapers and magazines and not-so-secretly hate each other out of the public eye.” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9492875#cmt9492875). Fair warning, this is structured more like related ficlets than a proper fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The marriage is a joke.

The citadel is dressed with complete seriousness, long benches lining the throne room and boundless flowers scattered everywhere, red banners hung and confetti in the air. No expense has been spared, no detail left unchecked, though Noctis doesn’t see the point of it all—so much window dressing for what is, essentially, little more than a political settlement. Ignis told him it would cheer the people to see a proper _show_. Noctis thinks his citizens need better hobbies. 

But, despite the withered sigh of his father and the questioning look from Gladiolus, Noctis _is_ a good prince, and he’s willing to make sacrifices for the sake of peace and prosperity. Not _real_ sacrifices, maybe—he’ll still see who he wants, date who he wants, possibly _more_ , albeit all in private—but he’ll make the public appearances required of him. He stands at the end of the black runner, trimmed in gold and red, dressed up like a king. Prompto stands just a little off to the side, faithfully behind him. At least they let him pick his own best man.

Ignis and Gladiolus are in the front row, seated next to his father: more honourary groomsman, and he can feel their support, Gladiolus’ begrudging and Ignis’ steadfast. Noctis still feels faintly guilty for yelling Ignis’ ears off last week when his advisor gently suggested the council might be onto something with this complete travesty of an idea. He said this small concession to Niflheim could end the hostilities and save countless lives. Noctis had thrown a fit. But he’s had time to settle down, time to reflect, and now he’s steeled himself over to be as cavalier about it as he is with all the council’s inane decisions. Fine: he’ll do it. But he’ll still traipse off to the arcade or a fishing pond at the first chance he gets, and he might even toss his wedding ring right off the pier.

Everyone rises when the music starts. The organ had to be dragged into the hall by four rugged Crownsguard officers, and now it echoes off the high rafters with as much bravado as its weight. Noctis turns to glance down the isle and sees his groom’s scowling face for the first time since this sham was suggested. Loqi has eyes for no one else in the crowded citadel: his sharp gaze pierces Noctis alone, like he might be able to strike Noctis dead with it before their vows are made.

Noctis has been in the public eye long enough to control his expression. He thought he might grimace or glower the whole way through, but instead, he finds a short grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Seeing that seems to make Loqi’s pale cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, only compounding Noctis’ amusement. He can wryly admit, at least to himself, that Loqi’s not a bad looking groom. In fact, he’s probably the best looking option the Empire could’ve offered. His ashen hair has been brushed to perfection, sweeping down and away from his attractive features, his eyes bright and vivid and his lips a smidgen rouged. His trim figure, well toned and strong, is snugly shown off in a crisp white suit. But perhaps the hottest feature is his sheer _fire_ , so evident in every fibre of his being, that Noctis finds himself momentarily captivated. It takes a second to shift his gaze away again.

A severe, older-looking man walks beside Loqi, and Noctis assumes that’s Loqi’s father. Various members of Niflheim’s high-society already line the left pews. When Loqi reaches the end of the isle, the man at his side retires to a free seat. Loqi is left to join Noctis center-stage. There are no groomsmen on Loqi’s side.

The officiant clears her throat. Noctis doesn’t know her name. He was given the opportunity to meet with her earlier in the week, to outline his vows and any preferences he might have for the ceremony. But he announced he didn’t care and didn’t bother. And the more Loqi looks at that complete nonchalance on Noctis’ part, the angrier he seems to get. Noctis has to stifle his grin entirely. At least the day won’t be boring.

“Dearly honoured,” the officiant starts, in a wise departure from ‘dearly beloved.’ Having suffered through one or two of Gladiolus’ horrid rom-coms, Noctis at least knows what a wedding’s _supposed_ to look like. “We are gathered here today, under the blessed eyes of the six, to witness the joining of the best and brightest of both Lucis and Niflheim. So to do we witness this historic moment when our peoples are forever joined, and a new peace is brought with it. Now, if the grooms would take each other’s hands, we may begin the sacred vows which will forever bind these souls.”

Noctis lifts his hands automatically. The ‘forever bound’ goes in one ear and out the other—he knows it’s just lip service and doesn’t really mean a thing. Loqi visibly hesitates, but when Noctis challengingly arches his brow, Loqi flushes crimson and quickly drops his hands into Noctis’. Noctis lightly holds onto them, mainly just to see Loqi wrinkle his nose. Childish though it might be, Noctis finds that the more petulant Loqi acts, the cuter Noctis thinks him. Ignis would give him a long-suffering sigh for it, but Noctis is already doing what was asked of him, and surely no one can ask anymore. 

“Now,” the officiant rolls on, talking deliberately slowly, likely to make up for the conspicuous lack of all the actually _loving_ vows. “We may begin the exchanging of the rings. Who offers them forth to bind and bless these two in their union?”

“I do,” the Niflheim Chancellor suddenly answers, which draws Noctis’ eye—he didn’t know about that. But then, he hadn’t asked, about that or any of the wedding details. In the corner of his eye, he can’t help but notice his father’s fists clenched against his knees. Noctis understands why. Chancellor Izunia is as unsettling and inappropriately dressed as ever, hair wild and creepy face in sore need of a shave. He stands up long enough to hold out a little box, which Loqi practically snatches out of his hands. The Chancellor merely smiles eerily and settles back into his seat.

The officiant starts, “Now, Loqi Tummelt, please repeat after me. With this ring, I thee—” But Loqi’s already stuffing one of the rings onto Noctis’ finger, and Noctis has to hold back a snort at the graceless way it’s shoved into place. At least he’s not the only one that knows this whole charade is absurd. Clearing her throat again, the officiant awkwardly continues, “With this ring, I thee wed...”

“I wed,” Loqi grunts, staring a mixture of sheer rage and stubbornness right into Noctis. 

The officiant seems to decide that’s close enough and hastily turns to Noctis, repeating, “Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, please repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed...”

“With this ring,” Noctis smoothly echoes, perfectly pitched just to piss Loqi off, “I thee wed...”

“For richer or for poorer.”

“For richer or for poorer.” Which is also a joke, because he can’t imagine either of them ever being stuck poor, what with the combined force of two desperate countries behind them.

“In sickness and in health.”

“In sickness and in health.” Loqi’s face actually twitches at the word ‘sickness.’ Noctis can guess what he’s thinking and hopes the opposite—that Loqi’s the one who will wind up very, very ill, just so he’ll have to eat some humble pie and rely on Noctis to take care of him.

“For as long as we both shall live.”

“For as long as we both shall live.” Noctis finishes the vow, even though Loqi never made such promises. Which is just fine, because Noctis doesn’t need him anyway.

“Then by the power vested in me by the crown,” the officiant continues, “I pronounce you husband and husband, and the realms of Lucis and Niflheim thusly bound. May both marriages, figurative and literal, flourish in the light of the six.”

If there’s going to be any parallel, Noctis figures it’ll be the years of conflict before he and Loqi finally reach a stalemate. But at least the wedding hasn’t been _too_ painful. Short, though not sweet.

The officiant ruins it by adding, “You may now kiss.”

Suddenly, the awkward silence seems to stretch throughout the entire citadel. Loqi glares at Noctis as though just daring him to try. Noctis fidgets, ringed hand still trapped in Loqi’s, before he finally decides he’ll be the bigger man. He ducks in and quickly pecks Loqi’s cheek, withdrawing as fast as he can. Loqi’s whole face blossoms into colour.

Prompto gives a little, “Whoop,” and Noctis could kill him. But the rest of the hall seems satisfied—they burst into applause. The only good thing about the attention is that Prompto’s also too busy clapping to snap any photos. The press, unfortunately, snaps away, and Noctis knows the tabloids will have nothing else to say for days. 

When Ignis silently gestures to him, Noctis remembers the rest. He drops his grip to Loqi’s wrist and drags his new husband off down the isle, the wedding bells ringing damningly behind them.

* * *

The jealousy is ridiculous.

At first, Noctis thinks nothing will change—they’ll both live their utterly _separate_ lives, just with rings on their fingers and the occasional joint public appearance. For the most part, they do. They spend the wedding night at opposite ends of Noctis’ grand bed, and even then, Noctis only agrees to share because it seems to piss Loqi off so much that he doesn’t get his own rooms. Everything he now has access to might be called _marital property_ , but they both know it was _Noctis’_ first.

That’s not what Loqi’s jealous of. If it was just the splendor of the palace, Noctis wouldn’t mind. But it’s more than that. It’s when Noctis spends a little too long training with Gladiolus, or savours Ignis’ desserts a tad too much, or spends too much buying Prompto a new camera. If Loqi has friends to do the same with, Noctis hasn’t met them. But given Loqi’s personality, that’s not surprising.

A few weeks of avoiding one another during the day sleeping with their backs to one another at night, Loqi’s no better. He huddles onto what he’s dubbed ‘his side’ of the bed, rolls over, and sneers at Noctis through the semi-darkness of the room like this is all Noctis’ fault. Noctis dims the nightstand’s lamp a little lower to hide the scrutiny, then continues typing on his phone. He isn’t always so quick to plunge the room into darkness—after all, as difficult as Loqi is to deal with, he’s not bad on the eyes. Perhaps there’s a small, _small_ part of Noctis that’s vaguely _proud_ to have such a hottie in his bed, but he burrows that under the practicality and knowledge that it doesn’t mean a thing: Loqi clearly hates him.

Although, even that doesn’t quite make sense, because if Loqi despised Noctis as much as his icy look seems to say, he wouldn’t care if Noctis stays up past midnight on his phone. It’s not like Noctis has the volume turned up or kept the lights on. Loqi could go right on sleeping.

Instead, Loqi mutters quietly, “Are you talking to that blond floozy again?”

Noctis has to stifle a quick snort at the word ‘floozy.’ He assumes Loqi means Prompto. And he’ll have to pass that particular insult on, because it’s too hilarious not to. He answers as straight-faced as he can, “Yeah; we’re organizing a King’s Knight tournament.”

For a moment, Loqi’s silent, and then he grumbles bitterly, “You don’t game with _me_.”

Noctis glances sideways. Loqi’s gaze has averted to somewhere amongst the expensive sheets. He’s already tucked shoulder-deep into the blankets, his soft hair cushioned across the pillow. In just the thin white nightgown that he always wears to bed, he looks more like a delicate seductress than an aggressive brigadier general. Or at least, he would, if his expression didn’t ruin the mirage. Either way, he doesn’t have a single scrap of the casual ease that Noctis associates with gaming, and he muses aloud, “I didn’t know you could play.”

Loqi’s blue eyes flick to Noctis. His soft features melt into a pout that shouldn’t be nearly so _cute_ as it is. He murmurs, strangely conciliatory, “You could teach me.”

When Noctis’ stomach stops fluttering, he grunts, “Fine.” And for a moment, he thinks maybe there is some hope—maybe this wild, infuriating, gorgeous creature isn’t a complete nuisance after all.

But then Loqi resumes his glare, like Noctis’ easy assent was the last thing he wanted, and he promptly rolls right over. Noctis has no doubt that he’s still scowling up a storm. He mutters, more acrid than ever, “Whatever, go hang out with your mistress.”

Noctis is too confused to laugh at that one. Sometimes, he really can’t figure his new husband out.

So he decides he won’t bother trying, and he resumes his life.

* * *

The first true kiss is... not that bad, actually.

It comes out of the blue. The day is literally blue and white, the skies clear and the air crisp and warm. The Regalia hums its way through the tunnel and out onto the other side, where the little city of Lestallum is bustling in its preparations. They were sent to make an appearance at the upcoming Festival. Noctis’ father had made it sound a grand and important affair, but as Noctis steps out into the car park, he can’t help but think it’s all a lot _smaller_ than what he expected. At least it’s bigger than the tiny outposts they passed along the way. Ignis did warn him that nothing would rival the crown city’s sprawling expanse.

Ignis drove, and Gladiolus took up the passenger’s side, acting as a personal bodyguard despite the half a dozen black cars packed full of Crownsguard that follow not-so-discreetly behind. Poor Prompto’s stuffed into on of them, because there’s only four proper seats in the Regalia, and Loqi insisted he and Noctis sit in the back alone. 

It was a long, long car ride in. And Loqi wasn’t _too_ unbearable. But if Ignis and Gladiolus hadn’t been there, Noctis might’ve gone mad. 

Now it’s time to check into the hotel, except that as they move towards the promenade, Loqi steps close beside him and smoothly informs him, “I think I’ll inspect the local power plant here. It’s a key factor in the energy grid of the entire country, and frankly, it could do with more royal supervision.”

Noctis just sort of looks at him and grunts, “Sure.” Loqi’s gaze lingers on Noctis, and it takes Noctis a second to realize that Loqi might be waiting for him to ask to come. Except that he can’t think of a more boring thing to do, and the far too many hours they spent together on the ride over was more than enough.

Gladiolus rescues him by announcing, “Noct and I are gonna get some cup noodles—I hear there’s a whole truck here. You game to come learn a new recipe, Iggy?”

Ignis lets an exasperated sigh and neglects to voice what they both know he’s thinking: cup noodles are hardly the nutritious recipes he prefers to serve his prince and friend. Noctis agrees anyway, “Sounds fun.” He doesn’t miss the way Loqi wrinkles his nose; evidently, Loqi’s mealtime tastes align more with Ignis than his husband. Noctis purposely avoids his disapproving frown.

Then they’re finished walking up the steps, and as soon as they’re on the main street, cameras are flashing. Noctis takes an automatic step back, momentarily blinded by the nearest barrage. The press instantly clamours with questions, few of which Noctis can even make out over the din, much less answer. His only consolation is that Loqi tenses at his side, clearly just as displeased and disoriented. 

But he’s a man of duty, as Noctis has learned, and like with the rest of their marriage, he sucks it up. He turns to Noctis and murmurs quietly, “I suppose I’ll see you at the hotel.”

“Yeah,” Noctis answers, “but heads up, I might be a bit late—I wanna see what kind of lures they sell outside the city.” Although, Noctis realizes belatedly, shopping in this tiny backwater city couldn’t possibly take up an entire day, like it easily could in Insomnia. Loqi doesn’t correct him.

Loqi just says, “Bye,” and turns on his heel to go.

Except he stops half a step out, assaulted again by the cameras, and then he suddenly turns back.

And before Noctis knows what’s happening, Loqi’s pressed right up against him, chest aligned with his and face tilting to brush their lips together. Loqi leans into his mouth, intensifying the subtle kiss, until it’s all that Noctis feels. His hands dart out to catch Loqi’s body, resting on Loqi’s arms, but Loqi’s hands are already on his hips. He sees Loqi’s eyes flutter closed, and for some reason, his lashes do the same.

Like acting all on its own, Noctis’ body responds—Loqi tries to pull away, to finish up the kiss, but it’s too late—Noctis reaches to grab him by the hair and pull him right back in. Loqi’s little, “Mmph!” of surprise gives Noctis a chance to slide his tongue into Loqi’s mouth, and he does, taking the opportunity to lick around and taste his husband for the first time in their marriage. He finds, with only a small measure of surprise, that he likes it.

But then the rest of the world, frozen out for just that fraction of a moment, comes rushing back in. He hears the paparazzi going wild, and he hears Ignis’ whispered, “ _Noct_ ,” behind him. He pulls away again, letting his fingers slip free of Loqi’s silken hair. Loqi just stands there and _looks_ at him, dazed.

For a good minute, Loqi doesn’t move. His cheeks remain attractively flushed, his lashes seductively lowered, his eyes dilated and lost. And then, all at once, he surges back to life, and his blush drastically deepens.

He opens his mouth as though to say more, but winds up with nothing. Instead, he stalks off in silence, parting the crowd by sheer force of will. Two Crownsguard officers automatically trail after him. 

When Noctis finally turns back to his entourage, he finds Ignis with a poker face and Gladio barely holding in a laugh. Prompto’s caught up just in time to look bewildered. Noctis tells them all, “Shut up,” and heads off in search of cup noodles.


	2. Loqi

The tabloids are wrong.

They might stand side by side in public, shoulders nearly touching, hands brushing and occasionally clasped together, but that sort of thing is both fleeting and hollow. First thing in the morning, they’re as separated from one another as the king is from the palace staff. Loqi takes his breakfast alone at the long table in their dining room. He’s waited on hand and foot, given his morning paper, a perfectly seasoned plate of eggs and toast, and offered, as per usual, to join his father-in-law in the _official_ dining room. As per usual, Loqi ignores it, and remains exclusively in his and Noctis’ wing.

Noctis is likely still fast asleep, tucked messily beneath the covers of his unmade bed. He always is on days when his shield doesn’t drag him out for training or his advisor for royal duties. He was still lightly snoring, a tin spec of drool at the corner of his mouth, when Loqi first awoke. Loqi distinctly remembers it, because he’d wasted a few seconds eyeing up his oaf of a husband. Doing so had made him increasingly annoyed, both because Noctis is such an ungraceful sleeper and because no one has any business looking quite so _delectable_ whilst drooling.

That’s been a fitting summary of their entire marriage thus far. Loqi takes that frustration out on his eggs, stabbing them a little harder than necessary. As he lifts the first bite to his mouth, he holds the paper across his lap with the other hand, cautiously skimming the headlines. 

Sure enough, his name is splashed across the entertainment section, although Loqi can’t see how he could possibly fit into that category. A giant, full-colour image of him and Noctis stretches the entire top-half of the page. The caption outlines how the two of them ‘make such a pretty picture.’ Looking at the still image, Loqi supposes he can see the truth in that. He looks stunning, of course, in the well-framed photograph, and Noctis is also undeniably attractive, even when he’s done nothing to earn that description. The wrinkles in his rumpled clothes are particularly obvious when shown next to Loqi’s pressed suit, and there’s even a smudge of dirt along his forearm from the fishing trip he’d been on before the event. But he looks accursedly dazzling anyway, and that only makes Loqi’s hands ball into fists around his fork and paper. 

Naturally, the article fails to mention that as soon as that staged event was finished, Noct had hopped into Ignis Scientia’s car and gone off to do Gods-know-what and left Loqi entirely alone. 

When Loqi first accepted this assignment—being married off to Lucis like some infinitely disposable pawn—he’d hoped for that exact thing: _to be left alone._ If he had to end his illustrious, albeit brief, military career, he at least didn’t want to become someone’s bed-warming plaything. 

But Noctis has left him _too_ alone, and it leaves Loqi wondering if his husband really despises him so much. He knows he hasn’t made it easy. But it shouldn’t be up to him to make the first move. Noctis is the one meant merely for politics. Noctis is the prince. Noctis should be more... _suave._

A languid yawn snaps Loqi from his reverie, and he turns to see that husband wandering in through the doorway. Noctis strolls for the empty chair at the far end of the table, pulls it out, and plops down without a word. He’s still in his disheveled pajamas, his hair an unsightly mess. Yet he still looks scrumptious.

Fuming, Loqi fluffs his paper, effectively hiding Noctis from view.

* * *

The groomsmen are a definite threat.

Loqi was told that Ignis Scientia was a mere advisor. Gladiolus Amicitia was no more than a shield. And Prompto Argentum, the best man, is little more than a commoner, and yet Loqi’s come to hate him even more than Noctis.

They all show up on a regular basis, regardless of whether or not they have official duties. Tonight seems to be one of those times were nothing’s getting done, and the four of them are sprawled out across Loqi and Noctis’ quarters like some sort of private party—one which Loqi wasn’t invited to. But they’re loud enough to draw him from the study, and when he stands in the doorway, no one seems to notice him.

Gladiolus is lounging on the couch like he owns the place. His jacket’s open, and there’s no shirt to conceal his washboard abs, almost comical in how chiseled they are. The man’s a total beefcake with a penchant for shirtless-ness. He brushes a meaty hand back through his hair, shoulders flexing and inadvertently highlighting his tattoo, as he laughs over one of Ignis’ awful jokes. Noctis snorts and leans back against the couch, thus leaning into _Gladiolus_ , because Gladiolus has one arm draped over the cushions. Loqi quietly _seethes._

With no room for him on the couch, Prompto sits on the floor—where he belongs, like the commoner mutt he is—and his attention is raptly focused on the television screen. He and Noctis each have a controller, and though all four men seem to pass those around evenly, Prompto and Noctis seem to get the most wrapped up in their game. Loqi doesn’t bother to check what game it is. He’s busy glaring at the way Prompto rests against Noctis’ legs and smiles up at Noctis every time he gains a victory. Noctis looks down at him with a fondness that makes Loqi want to have him exiled.

But Ignis is the worst. He isn’t so bad _now_ , exactly, his long, lean body curled up on the other end of the couch, his exquisite face slipping easily from the game to each of his friends. The vegetable platter he brought remains mostly untouched on the coffee table. He makes another atrocious pun over something happening on screen, and Noctis groans while Prompto bursts out into laughter.

Ignis dons a thin smile, like the one he wore when he showed up well into the evening last night, only to bring Noctis an exquisitely hand-cooked meal and a dossier of tailored council reports. He may as well be a bottom-rung servant for how much he dotes on Noctis, yet their relationship goes far beyond professional—they’re friends, _close_ friends, and Ignis never fails to provide for and attend to Noctis the way, perhaps, a spouse should.

And Noctis laps it up, accustom to the treatment and taking all of it for granted. He’s much too close, too _personal_ with all of them. When Noctis groans over another apparent game over, Gladiolus cracks a joke and ruffles through Noctis’ silken hair.

That simple touch, so casual and quick, is the final straw for Loqi. He isn’t _jealous_ exactly—or at least, he tells himself that he isn’t—but he can’t abide by these strange men taking such liberties with _his_ husband when he himself is rarely given so much as a hand to hold. He wants all these people _out_ , and he wants them to take their cheating prince with them.

Except he doesn’t _really_. Not that last part. He clears his throat loudly, and when that draws no more than Ignis’ curious gaze and a quick glance and subsequent dismissal from Gladiolus, Loqi barks, “Noct!”

All four of them turn around. The television makes a horrid sound, and Loqi sincerely hopes that their game characters crashed and burned. He summons the voice with which he used to command his long-gone troops, and he haughtily demands, “Having tolerated this obnoxious party all evening, I expect it to be finished and all of you to be gone by midnight.”

The three guests meet his orders with silence, but Noctis wrinkles his nose and counters, “Loqi, don’t be an asshole—”

“I share these quarters too,” Loqi hisses, talking right over Noctis, only further infuriated by his protests, “and I think I’m being quite generous!” Noctis opens his mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Loqi adds, “Come on, you see this rabble every day of your life, can you not spare your own husband _one_ night?”

Noctis’ mouth shuts. All at once, he becomes unreadable. His casual air, even his angry outbursts, die away into a strange, almost kingly presence that, at first, takes Loqi aback. For a long moment, their eyes are locked, and Loqi feels bizarrely spellbound. The rest of the room falls away.

Finally, Noctis nods, agreeing simply, “Midnight.”

Then he returns to his game. The other three eye him with surprise, but theirs melts away quicker than Loqi’s does, and soon the scene is little different than it was before Loqi’s interruption.

With his heart beating twice as fast, Loqi retreats to their bed and waits, now with odd anticipation, for his man to join him.

* * *

The marriage... isn’t _totally_ impossible.

It mostly is. Loqi knows that. He keeps to his side of the bed, and he tries to just _sleep_ , to make it through another day, to close his eyes and not let his mind drift to the empty space behind him. But that space is all he thinks about, at least until the bedroom door creeps open.

Noctis isn’t completely selfish. He’s quiet as he slips through the dark, and he lifts the blankets carefully as he slides beneath them. Loqi’s sure he’s shed his shoes but doesn’t know about the rest. Loqi tells himself he won’t roll over to look—he tells himself he won’t react at all. 

Loqi has a hard time listening to anyone, even himself. He’s turning before he knows it, only to find Noctis facing him, cool eyes glimmering through the blackness of their bedroom. Only a thin sliver of starlight exists around the edges of their curtains, but it’s enough, as always, to be captivated with the sight of Lucis’ gorgeous prince tucked sweetly into bed. Loqi knows their joint kingdom is full of people who would kill for the spot that Loqi has. 

Loqi still hisses, low and bitter, “You’re home late.”

“Had to go through some shit with Iggy,” Noctis answers easily, and maybe he can’t see in the low light how that petname makes Loqi sneer. Loqi wants to scold him more. Wants to berate him endlessly. But the words don’t come out, and Loqi just sort of flounders, eyeing Noctis across their pillows.

Noctis shuffles that tiny bit closer, and then they’re close enough to touch—Loqi can feel Noctis’ legs shifting against his, one of Noctis’ hand curling near his chest. A fraction closer, and Noctis will be on Loqi’s pillow. Suddenly, the room is stifling, and it’s difficult to breathe.

Noctis is the one to close the distance. Loqi’s sure of that. Sure it’s _Noctis’ fault_ , even though he’s leaning in too, because he can smell the raw musk and sweat on Noctis’ body, and for some reason, that casual filth gets him going. 

They meet in the middle. Noctis’ mouth presses into Loqi’s, the way it did that first time before the press, and all the little subsequent times they’ve kissed in front of cameras. It’s always meant to mean _nothing_ —just a shallow show for the people—but it always leave Loqi’s pulse a trifle fast, his skin a tad too hot. He feels flushed already, because Noctis just keeps getting _closer_ , and his body’s so wondrously _warm_.

Burrowed beneath the blankets, Noctis envelops him. One leg thrusts between Loqi’s thighs, and one hand lifts to his face, Noctis’ palm cradling his cheek before running back into his hair. Noctis’ fingers thread through and hold him in. Loqi’s fist clenches at his side, only to unfurl and dart for Noctis’ hair. Even after a full day of running around Gods-know-where, it’s just as soft as it was the last time Loqi hurriedly finger-combed it before a public appearance. He distinctly remembers being both frustrated and proud.

Now he pours that confusion into Noctis’ mouth. He lets Noctis’ tongue trace along his lips and slip between, and he opens wider to return the favour, to lick Noctis coyly out before nipping harshly at his lips. Noctis makes a deep, heady mewling noise that has Loqi hardening. He was already halfway there. He is most nights. Noctis doesn’t wear the tantalizing, sparse sleepwear that Loqi does, and now he’s just in an old shirt and sweatpants, but it’s still enough to turn Loqi on. When Loqi grinds them together, he can feel Noctis’ well-toned body through the cheap fabrics. It isn’t _fair_. He gets a royal husband hotter than Ifirit’s fire, yet that husband can’t be bothered to dress like a proper prince, much less act like one. Loqi punishes Noctis for it with the force of his bruising kisses, but Noctis just meets every one and gives as good as he gets. In no time, Loqi’s humping him with near desperation. 

Noctis is just as bad. Noctis takes it further. He uses the hand in Loqi’s hair to tilt him, to jerk his head back, to pry open his jaw and kiss him like a conqueror, while the other hand slips deftly around Loqi’s waist to take a fistful of his rear. Loqi moans into Noctis’ mouth as he’s kneaded through his nightgown, the flimsy fabric hiding none of the sensations. He can feel just how strong, how rough Noctis’ grip is. Then Noctis is gliding around to the front, where he squeezes the imprint of Loqi’s straining shaft. In a heartbeat, Loqi’s rock-hard. 

He returns the favour. With Noctis having started it, Loqi has little problem joining in—he lets his eager hands roam Noctis’ chiseled body with only growing lust. He palms Noctis’ hard pecs, he skims along Noctis’ taut abs, he traces Noctis’ arms and slaps Noctis’ pert ass. Noctis moans against him, low and deep, enough to make a shiver run down Loqi’s spine. Before Loqi can stop himself, he’s diving into Noctis’ sweatpants.

He takes Noctis’ dry cock in hand, reveling over each little detail—the texture, the girth, the weight of it and every snaking vein. It has him bucking into Noctis, wanton and needy. He doesn’t care. All propriety’s gone out the window. He strokes Noctis cock almost cruelly, more to satisfy himself than anything—he just wants to _feel_ it, wishes he’d done this earlier so he could see it, maybe even taste it—because this sizeable instrument is now the best sex toy Loqi owns. His mind floods with fantasies of being impaled on his husband’s cock, before Noctis strokes him back and Loqi spins off into that—images of fucking Noctis over every surface in their quarters.

Noctis is kinder. He breaks their kiss to lick his hand, slicking it up before he hikes up Loqi’s nightgown and slips beneath. Noctis holds him, tight and warm, and strokes him in time with his own thrusts, corkscrewing and massaging and just generally driving him wild. He didn’t think Noctis would be so good at handjobs. He hopes that means Noctis is just as skilled at other things. Because it won’t stop here. Now that they’ve opened this box, Loqi knows his libido won’t go back inside. They’ll consummate their marriage, sooner rather than later, and Noctis will learn that Loqi can give him so much more than his pitiful friends could ever hope to.

Even with just their hands, frantic kisses and wandering touches, it doesn’t take long to reach its peak. It couldn’t, not with how pent up Loqi is—he’s spent too many nights sleeping beside a living wet dream, and Noctis’ presence is so powerful. He takes Loqi right to the edge, and even though Loqi desperately wants to hold back, wants to make this last and be the final one to fall, it’s all too good to manage. Loqi comes with a horrid cry, arching forward and splattering all over his expensive gown. Noctis strokes him right through it and goes on kissing him—his open mouth, his flushed cheeks, even the column of his throat. Loqi’s hand stills, but Noctis bursts over it a minute later, grunting in release and burying Loqi in more kisses. Loqi’s left dizzy and boneless. He slumps against his husband, heavy but _so_ satisfied.

They don’t say anything afterwards. There’s nothing to say. They both just lie there, panting in the aftermath, pleasantly dazed. Loqi’s a little sticky now, both from his cum and sweat, and he wants to wash his hand. He settles for wiping it off on Noctis’ sweatpants instead. He’s too sated to move.

He rolls over. But he reaches back to take Noctis’ arm with him, drawing Noctis in to spoon him. 

Noctis does, and they sleep together, like the good husbands they are.


End file.
